A Dangerous Game
by Wicked Thespian
Summary: An AU JaSam story. Chapter 5 updated and now complete! 5.1: Robin Scorpio 5.2: Lucky Spencer. Please, read and review!
1. Tempting Fate

( Title: A Dangerous Game  
Author: Wicked Thepsian aka Carly   
Rating: M, for mature.   
Description: This is an AU fic. That means it's based in an Alternate Universe. What kind of universe? Weeeelllll... the basics are still the same. Port Charles. Mobsters. Kelly's. And of course the center of it all, General Hospital. But I've given the characters new jobs and backstories. Mostly. I'm probably not as creative as I should be, only changing what I needed to for the story. -shifty eyes- 

The main characters of the story are, as if it's a surprise, Jason and Sam. Lorenzo, Manny, Sonny, Elizabeth, Lucky, Robin, Reese, Jax, Courtney, Mac, Georgie and quite a few others will round out the cast. There will be character deaths, nothing too unexpected though. There will be violence. And blood. And sex, of course. 

Why of course? Now we're at the good part. Well, not really. Courtney and Sam are prostitutes in my story. Yes, I know. Cliche. But fun. I'm not a lemon writer, however, so don't expect actual sex scenes. Heheh.

And, if you can recognize what I'm paying tribute to with my title I'll... give you a cookie. Well. Not really.

Anyway, my biggest hope is that you enjoy this story, because it's just here to be fun. Nothing amazing. Probably a ton of errors. Correct me when you can, and feel free to comment!

I do not own any of these characters, nor do I claim to. We'll give the credit to the good folks at ABC and Disney.)

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** Chapter 1: Tempting Fate**

"Why the long face, handsome?"

"Jax jolted in his seat his eyes and mind freed from the red liquid swirling around in the glass in front of him. A woman was watching him with a keen, amused expression. He felt the heat of a colorless blush crawl across his face to the tips of her ears. He diverted his eyes to his lap before they betrayed him and got him into trouble. He had not forgotten where he was, and could easily guess what she wanted in speaking with him. A gift from AJ, no doubt, to make sure Jax enjoyed himself. Apparently AJ considered all men to be just like him, but Jax was here on his own agenda: he would not be persuaded or deterred by a nice set of breasts. Still, ignoring the woman attached to this particular pair was already more difficult than his resolve would like. Her voice was sultry and practiced, but buried somewhere deep beneath those superficial layers was an intoned softness. Or maybe he was just hearing things.

The woman, young enough to be fresh in attitude but far from inexperienced, smirked at his silence, making herself comfortable in the seat opposite is at the small, round table. She sighed to let him know she was there for the duration and stretched theatrically, tapping his foot with hers. She was teasing him.

Jax did not look up.

"Miss, I'm sorry, but I'm not…" He floundered. She chuckled and leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her palms. He squinted at her arms carefully, the eloquent speech that usually flowed with pure confidence wrapped in an Australian accent lost to him.

"I understand, mate," the working girl purred. She glanced over his shoulder, and he guessed she was looking for AJ's eyes as he watched them from the safety of his curtained off office. Jax noticed her eyes were a beautiful blue before his courage gave out and his eyes fell to the far less dangerous table in front of him. The woman waved her hand low in an effort to catch his gaze. "This is you first time here, then?"

Jax composed himself enough to raise his eyes. If AJ had sent her over she already knew the answer to that question. Feeling humbled by the change in her tone and compelled to answer because of it, he said, "Yes. And not by choice. This isn't really my idea of a good night out."

He timidly picked up his glass and sipped at the surprisingly fine red wine. It was about time he took a good look at this emissary of AJ. He did so by peering inconspicuously over the rim of his glass.

She was young, but maybe older than he had thought at first. Nearer his own age, in fact. She had silky blonde hair that fell down her back when it could, but was currently pulled back in a messy ponytail. She wasn't wearing what he would expect in a place like this, with a job like hers. It was almost something he would expect to see on teenagers trying too hard to be popular. Then again, why shouldn't she wear normal clothes? Still, the longer he looked at her, the easier it was for him to see that everything about her get up was planned to give prospective clients –people like Jax- an erotic teaser as to what she had to offer. Her top was black, tight, and sleeveless with a low cut neck. It cut off at her ribs, revealing a flat, toned stomach. She wore low cut jeans that had seen better days but did an amazing job of showing off the subtle curves of her thighs and legs. Small strings of underwear were exposed above the fall of the pants. Instead of the sneakers Jax was half expecting she wore laced up sandals, displaying petite, soft feet.

Jax would be lying to himself if he said he didn't find her outfit powerfully effective. He admitted silently that he would probably choose her over all the other girls. AJ certainly know how to please his clientele. While the rest of the women in the bar were dressed to kill, each with her own commanding style and obvious show of sexual preferences, the woman he had picked out for Jax was a curiosity. An enigma against the rest of her peers. He felt there was more to her than he could see.

He liked her.

Replacing the wine glass on a napkin, Jax straightened up and caught her eyes. They really were stunning.

"I'm sorry," He said, motioning unperceptively. He was apologizing for whatever it was he had said earlier that left this bad taste in his mouth, and for the awkward silence that had settled between them. It was clear that he didn't know how long they had been sitting while he stared. Lucky for her, he was also too disconcerted to notice that she had been checking him out as closely as he had her. All he knew was he was slightly pleased that she hadn't lost interest in him.

"In this place you get used to being ogled." She shrugged indifferently and then smiled at him coyly. He felt two completely different lines tugging at him. Her seductive smile played to the façade of her employment while her eyes, flickering with the depth of her true nature, were endearing. She arched a knowing eyebrow at him, "You seem to have taken an interest."

Startled, Jax shifted his sight back to his lap, coughing and raising his fist to his mouth to cover his surprise the best he could. Her honest laugh was melodious.

"It's all right!" She assured him, "You're not the only one, believe me. You're awfully dressed up for a place like this. If you aren't here because you want to have fun, then what brings you? If you say business I swear I'll laugh you right out the door, mister..?"

"Jacks. Jasper Jacks," He offered his hand across the table and she vigorously accepted and shook it. She seemed surprised. Jax relaxed, glad to finally level the playing field by catching her off guard.

"Jax, huh? With your reputation I'd expect to find you at the hospital, or in a church: as far away from this place as possible. I hear we dancers are bad press for good boys like you."

"Dancers? All right, will go with that. Do _you_ have a name, Miss Dancer?"

"The guys around here just cal me Cours." At his puzzled expression she added, "It's short for Courtney."

"Pretty. But why not Court of something like that?"

Courtney laughed and shook her head, "The people around here relate easier to beer than the judicial system."

Jax smiled at her. He liked her better when she wasn't hitting on him.

"Well, Cours," he said, tasting the nickname gingerly, "get ready to laugh, because I _am_ here on business. And that's why AJ sent you over here, but you can tell him it won't work… I mean, after we finish talking."

"Like my conversation, huh?" She smiled whimsically at him, a clouded thought passing over her eyes.

"As surprising as it may be to you, not all men enjoy the sort of company this place offers." He was halfway through a vague hand motion in her direction before he realized how harsh that had come out. She was not offended, as far as he could see.

"I guess not," was all she said. Jax decided it was time to get to work. He just needed to get a feel for the place, and she was the best person to help him do it. It wouldn't be too hard, with the chemistry he knew they were both feeling.

"What brings _you_ to a place like that?" He leaned forward, gauging her surprise. It was apparent that she was not used to this sort of conversation.

"I needed the work, what else?" She grinned flirtatiously and copied his lean, almost meeting him at the center of the table. He didn't back down, their noses brushing as she continued to speak. He smiled back at her with his classic confidence, feeling much more like himself not that he had conquered his nervousness, "You know, they say I'm _really_ good at my job."

"I bet. I should come see you dance some time. So. Courtney, huh?"

"Yeah," she answered quickly, baffled by how easily he had brushed off her advance. She was aware that the reigns had shifted completely from her hands.

"Courtney what?"

Still reeling, "Matthews."

"Well, Miss Matthews, it was a pleasure speaking with you. Give AJ my best." He stood, left money on the table, and made for the exit. Courtney leapt from her seat abruptly and blocked his path.

"Wait a minute, where are you going?"

"Home. It's been a long, trying day. I'm hoping tomorrow will be better." He concealed his smile and tried to pass her, but she stepped into him, gently running her hands down the lapels of his jacket.

"Tonight could be good, too, you know," she said, slipping once more into her job description. Jax smiled at her graciously, person to person, and took her elbows into his hands, easing her into a few steps backwards. His path clear, he walked to the door, took his hat, scarf and coat from the door clerk, and left without as much as a glance over his shoulder. Courtney followed a few steps behind like a lost puppy, determined not to lose the man who could provide for her that night.

"I have no need for a hooker, you know," he called back to her casually, his lightly accented voice filling the empty alley. "You should go back inside. The night is still young, I'm sure you could find some other meal ticket tonight." This speech prompted Courtney to follow him deeper into the alley, the House almost equidistant with the street, raging softly; insulted because it was probably true. She opened her mouth to yell at his back, but he cut her off. He turned to face her, smiling as warmly as if they had known each other for yours. It was so sudden that she almost crashed into him. "I'm sure you have no need for a scruffy, lime-light monger philanthropist like me."

"You wouldn't know about my needs," she snapped back, frowning and folding her arms over her chest protectively. His smile quelled her anger, which only managed to tick her off on a different level.

"Well, no. I may not _know_ anything about them, or you, but I can assume."

"You know what they say about people who assume."

He ignored her as he reached into the breast pocket of his jacket. She recoiled a step, but before she could fully come to terms with the fact that she was alone in a seedy alley with a complete stranger that might like to strangle naughty little girls in the night he produced a harmless business card and held it out to her. She accepted it carefully, as if it were laced with some devastating disease. He titled his hat.

"If you ever find yourself in need of a friend, away from your 'job', that's my address. I'm a busy guy, but if you need me, I'll be there for you. And before you say 'but you don't even know me': I understand. But I'm a nice guy. It's actually what I'm known for."

"Better be careful with these cards," she said, feeling patronized, "loose women are known for making late calls. Bad press, after all. You'd be all over the papers for all new reasons." She offered it back to him, but he didn't take it.

"I guess I'll just go with the old 'she's just a friend' quote."

"How can you call me fr-"

"Goodnight, Courtney Matthews," he said with a wave over his shoulder. She stood stiff for a long time, even after he had vanished into the foggy night. She held the card tightly in her fist, crumpling the thick paper. A chill ran down her body. She couldn't decide if it was from the strange encounter with one of the most famous nice-guys in Port Charles, or because she was standing scantily clad in frigid night air that was heavy with an airborne layer of mist from the docks nearby. She felt inclined towards the former, but, not being a particularly romantic person, she hugged herself tightly and returned to the arid warmth of the House.

AJ was waiting for her when she came back. He had been watching all the while, and by his expression she could tell he was ready to chew her out for coming back before dawn. She didn't feel like putting up with him, and really just wanted to go to bed, so she ignored him completely, brushing by him pointedly as she made her way to and up the stairs to the small apartment that she called home. He let her go, looking exasperated. It wasn't like he didn't know where she lived.

Before changing and turning in for the night, being as close to silent as she could to not disturb the one of two roommates that was already asleep. Courtney went to a small desk that sat in the very corner of the room. It wasn't a desk in the formal sense of the word, but more a small, stumpy table that she could –and had to- sit at without a chair. She justified the cheap and worn look of the wood by way of 'comfort'. She sat down, folding her legs under her and resting lightly on her knees, and put the crumpled card on the work top. With trembling hands she unfolded and flattened it the best she could, smiling at the name that stared up at her in bold print. She doubted she would ever see him again.

It sure had been fun, though.

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(I know what you're thinking. Not that great, but please, leave me a review! I have the second chapter ready for upload... say... after ten reviews (or I get tired of waiting)... after that... I'm not sure if I'll continue it. We'll see. -) 


	2. A House Divided

(Well, okay. I lied last time. I'll just post this now. I figure it's not really a good idea to make people wait for it, considering a third chapter might never come. Not that I expect many people to read this. Anyway, this chapter is a bit longer than the last, and centers around Courtney and Sam. Heh.)

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**Chapter 2: A House Divided**

Samantha sat on her bed, a book in her hand and a pad of yellow paper in her lap. She had a pen in her mouth, chewing on it mindlessly as she read the small print of the thick textbook. Courtney was sitting near, on the floor, her back against the side of the bed Samantha was working on. A basket of food was sitting next to her, and a textbook identical to the one in her friend's hand was resting in her lap. They were working in silence, but it was comfortable.

"Cours?"

Courtney looked up from her work, her head almost straight back against the bed, "Hmm?"

"Can you toss me some apple juice?"

"Mhm." Courtney reached into the basket and took out a small, green and red juice box. She tossed it without aiming over her shoulder. Sam caught it almost mindlessly, taking the small red straw from the back and poking it through the easy-to-open hole in one smooth motion. She went back to reading, sipping at the children's juice box lazily. Silence settled again, but only for a short time.

"Sam?'

Not looking up from her notepad as she scribbled some thoughts down, "Hmmm?"

"You know this is silly, right?"

Courtney Matthews was young, blonde and beautiful. Her long hair framed her face in layers and highlighted her defiant blue eyes. She was not dainty in figure, with muscular arms, a flat, sculpted stomach, and strong legs. Since she was 'off-duty' she wore a T-shirt and a man's flannel shirt she had bought for warmth when money had been short, but kept because it fit her in more ways than one. Plain, form fitting khaki pants and bare feet completed the casual look.

Samantha McCall was Courtney's perfect counterpart. She sported thick black hair and dark brown eyes. Her body was less refined than her roommates, since she just couldn't find enough time in the day, between working full-time for Bobbie Spencer and keeping AJ in line, to go to the gym regularly like Courtney somehow managed to do. It was a secret that belonged to Courtney alone: Sam gave up trying to figure out how she milked more hours out of the day a long time ago. Sam was much shorter than her friend, and a little less graceful. She was wearing an off-the-shoulder navy sweater that was three or four sizes too big for her and plain black sweat pants, her bare feet crossed at the knee as she used her lap as a desk.

The sweater was given to her by Courtney's father, Mike Corbin, during the first winter of Sam's stay in Port Charles, and no matter how many times she washed it the comfortable smell of an old style kitchen stove's smoke never came out. Mike owned a diner called Kelly's in the city, which the two girls frequented when they had the time. The thing that made Mike as good as a father to Sam was the fact that he didn't judge them. He knew. Of course he knew: Courtney was his Princess, his beloved daughter.

Mike hadn't known this until only a few years ago, however. Before that Courtney grew up on her own for the most part, her adoptive family falling apart when she was a teen. She had gotten into her dealings with AJ long before she knew her father existed.

He took care of her now, but somehow understood what she was doing in a place like the House. He asked her to leave, a parental obligation, but he never tried to force her. And he was the same with Sam, as if he had adopted her a long time ago. Never really having a family, it was a tumultuous experience for her.

She was still learning how to love a family.

"Yeah… I know," she said after thoughtfully chewing on the straw, "but that's what makes us _wonderful_. You know. The effort."

Laughing at herself more than anything else, Courtney nodded, "This is the same kind of stuff Georgie is doing at the high school, you know?"

Georgie Jones was the youngest tenant of the building, a baby at seventeen. When the pretty young woman had arrived at AJ's doorstep earlier that year looking for a place to stay and earn some money Bobbie, the landlord of the apartments and owner of the top six of eight floors of the building, had instantly switched into maternal mode. She let the girl room with Courtney and Sam, and gave her the safe job of tenant maid. She cleaned and supplied the apartments, but was never given reason to venture down to the first floor or the basement. It was silently agreed between the three older women that Georgie would be kept as far away from AJ and the House as possible.

Being seventeen, of course, didn't make her completely naïve. She was aware of what happened on the floors she couldn't visit. She didn't want to go there, even if she was allowed to. She couldn't understand why anyone in their right mind would.

Sam and Courtney rarely spoke to Georgie about their private lives. Georgie didn't ask. She didn't like to assume, but it was hard not to when one or both of them stayed out all night. She didn't know anything about them, really, and that was okay by them. As long as she knew they would take care of her, there wasn't much more to say.

"Yeah, well. It was _your_ idea, if I remember correctly. 'Hey, Sammy! Let's go to _community college_ and get ourselves out of this place, huh?' And me, because I'm so damn impressionable, I agreed. Don't complain at me now because it's not challenging enough for you."

"That's not it. It's hard. I don't know, I just think… sometimes I think no matter what we do, AJ will keep us here forever," Courtney put the book down and stood. She stretched out across Sam's bed, just at her feet. Sam sighed and flipped herself over completely, resting her chin on Courtney's stomach.

Irrefutably the most hated man on either side of the Port Charles demographic, AJ Quartermaine was the owner of the strip club called the House: the bar that took up the first floor and the dance hall in the basement below. He was a man of many seedy contacts and had more than enough handholds in the workings of the back alleys to keep the girls of his strip club and prostitution ring on a short leash. Most of the girls had money problems he was more than happy to exploit, including drug dependencies and loan shark woes. They needed him to keep them with clients, to keep the money coming in to make payments. Little did they realize, and little good it did them if they did discover, that AJ knew most of the dealers in the area and worked deals with them for his benefit.

He had an attraction to Courtney that he didn't bother hiding. He used her like a drug, and thrived on his hold over her. By an ugly twist of fate she owed him money directly, and he never failed to remind her of that. She had come to him for help. She needed him then, and she'd need him forever. Sam, meanwhile, owed a substantial sum to a loan shark under his thumb, for a reason she kept to herself. Only Courtney and Bobbie knew the reality of her situation. The rest, the girls and AJ and every client that bothered to ask, simply thought she liked her job and for that she had a very loose reputation. It didn't bother Sam at all, considering it made her an instant favorite among the men.

"That bastard can't keep us down for long. You'll see, once you're paid up you'll have nothing to worry about. Bobbie's already seeing to that. AJ won't even see it coming. He thinks he still has years on you." She grinned wickedly. Just imagining AJ's face when Courtney escapes his grubby little claws was enough to lift even the worst of moods.

"But you…"

"Cours, I'll follow you. No worries." Sam rolled off the bed, landing in an easy crouch. She took her juice box with her as she crossed the room and began pacing, "I don't want to talk about that, though. Anyway, don't we have homework to finish?"

"Yeah… I'm sorry. I know it's hard…"

"You're not very good at the whole 'not talking about it' thing, but I'm sure you'll get better."

The door to the room creaked open behind Sam, and she turned to greet the intruder. Knocking was a vital skill to master in this building, and most of the tenants knew this. It wasn't surprising, then, when Georgie entered timidly.

"Hey, Jones," Courtney said with a smile. Georgie blushed and waved. She still wasn't quite used to living with two other women. She tried not to make eye contact, so she let her gaze sweep the room. She noticed the textbooks and papers and smiled.

"Hi."

"You okay?" Asked Sam, catching a strange vibe in the air. Georgie nodded, her blond curls falling over her eyes. Courtney joined them, pushing Georgie inside and shutting the door.

"What's the matter?" She asked the younger girl, placing a friendly hand on her arm and leading her to her bed, which sat closest to the door.

"Nothing. I just…" She sat in silence for a long moment, her eyes shifting from Courtney to Sam, taking in all she could about them for the first time. They looked so different physically, but there was something about them, their eyes or the way they carried themselves, that was exactly the same. Georgie couldn't find a name for it, nor words to describe it. They did what they had to. They survived. She could never dream about being as strong as their lives undoubtedly made them. "How long have you two been friends?"

The two older girls exchanged a look, then Sam ventured, "Two years?"

"You're like sisters…" There was something inexplicably sad in her tone, and it irked them. They wanted to make her smile.

Sam grinned, "Don't you know?"

Courtney mirrored Sam's expression flawlessly, "We are sisters."

"Twins, actually."

"Can't you see the resemblance?"

Georgie couldn't help but smile. She loved the way they worked off each other seamlessly. The young, sheltered girl longed for companionship of that caliber, but knew she couldn't hope to get it from either of her roommates. They were devoted to each other, after all.

"Am I interrupting anything?"

"Nah. Just some homework for economics… thanks, Courtney, for making me take this stupid course that, no doubt, I'll fail miserably while you pass with points and credits to spare." Sam threw the empty juice box at Courtney and it glanced off her side, landing eerily close to the basket it had come from.

"Do you need the room or something?"

"No. I thought you might."

Sam shot a puzzled look in Courtney's direction and watched as her best friend that shared everything with her colored suspiciously.

"Why? We're already using it," Sam intoned pointedly, leading Georgie into an explanation. It was Courtney's turn to shoot a look, but this one was more wary than confused.

"Well, Courtney has been getting calls all morning and since she brought him up here last time, I thought she might know him personally or something, and… want to…" Her sentence withered like a flower in flame under the blazing eyes of Courtney Matthews.

"Wait, what? Calls? _Him_?_ Here_? Who, Cours? And where the hell was I?"

"You were _busy _that night, Sam," Georgie began cautiously. Busy doing what was hardly a question any one in the room needed to ask, despite what the older woman pretended to believe. Courtney waved a hand and, in one bound, led their young ward by the elbow to the door.

"Tell him the usual, and then field all his calls. Now I need to talk to Sam…" There was no mistaking the anger in her voice.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what I--"

"It's fine." With that Courtney pushed Georgie out of the room and shut the door with a bang. She turned and found her dark haired counterpart staring at her intently from her cross-legged perch on her bed, much like an unblinking barn owl over a field mouse.

Exasperated, Courtney waved her hand nonchalantly and said in a tone to match, "His name is Jasper Jacks. He thinks I'm his next charity case." Sam rolled her shoulders back and blinked very slowly, shaking her head as if action might make her understand a bit better.

"You mean _Jax_? The biggest nice guy since _Jesus_!" Courtney shrugged, "What does he want? No, save that: why was he _here_?"

"It's complicated?" She laughed when Sam didn't point out the irony in that statement. What about their lives wasn't complicated? They lived by a thousand rules and were in constant danger on multiple levels. Every client had to be treated in the strictest confidence and utmost respect. They, on top of the commandments of AJ and the House, each came with an individual ser of codes that, if broken, could be disastrous to every party involved. Them. Him. The rarely mentioned but constantly looming Her. Everyone.

Nothing in the life of a prostitute was ever easy.

"Try again," Sam remained interested, unmoving. Courtney sighed and collapsed onto her own bed, the furthest from the door, and clasped her hands behind her head, her eyes unseeing as she considered where to begin.

"Okay. Yes, it's that Jax. He came round to the House looking to make a deal with AJ, I guess. Since then he's been talking to Bobbie instead. He must have figured out that AJ is a dick."

"Not surprising."

"No. Anyway. The first night he was here you were out, I think with that guy with the guy with the crying problem?"

"Last week. Hey, I got paid and all I had to do was sit there and give him a shoulder. Easiest night I've had on the job yet, I think."

"Right. So AJ sends me over to him. He wanted me to make sure Jax had a good time. A good enough time to leave AJ alone, and for me to learn what he was up to. He blew me off completely. He has a plan for this place, I just know it. I've met him a couple times since; just recently in here while you were at Kelly's to keep AJ from spying on us. He's trying to recruit me to his cause and, I guess, trying to help me out of here. I'm trying to avoid him."

"Why?" Sam tilted her head, "He sounds like he likes you. And maybe it's a good idea to shut this place down with his help, you know? Stop kids like Georgie from growing up like we did." Sam colored, shifting her eyes away from Courtney as if they were suddenly on dangerously treasonous ground.

"You know that was my plan. Bobbie trusts us enough to include us in this little power usurpation bid she's been working on behind AJ's back… but I don't want us to look like another one of Jax's triumphs. He's notorious for his charity work. I don't want him to use this place and the rest of the girls as stepping stones to godliness… I don't want to be sweet talked into the palm of his hand. I mean, what if he has ulterior motives?"

Bobbie Spencer was the owner and superintendent of the floors above the House. Before AJ had come into the picture, the ground level floor and basement had belonged to a business owner, and it had been nothing more than a smoky bar. Bobbie had even been in negotiations to sell her part of the building to the bar owner, since she had no use for them. They had been acquired after a divorce settlement. Then AJ, with his noble dreams of becoming an infamous figure in the underground society of Port Charles, akin to the mightiest of mobsters, bought the place out and formed his House. It was easy enough for him to find the fodder for his sleazy establishment. Bobbie put her foot down and refused to sell him her part of the building, despite his more than generous offers and less than legal threats. She enlisted Courtney and Sam, two women who had their own personal reasons for loathing AJ, to help her create a coup. It was slow, laborious work, but every day they made slight progress. With Jax entering the picture their dreams of cleaning the place up and giving the girls of the House better lives came into focus, but at what price?

"So you like him, but you don't want to trust him on reputation alone." An uncomfortable silence settled between them as Courtney batted Sam's words around. Sam took it as a cue to continue, "You're attracted to him, right?"

"He's attracted to me, more like. I'm too professional now to… be capable of a normal relationship. That's been beaten out of me by now."

Sam laughed inappropriately, "I hope I'm not as dehumanized as you are."

"No, you're not. You're still perfect, Sammy."

"Right." She brushed it off with a curt response, but the tone in Courtney's voice resonated within Sam. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, brushing her bangs out of her eyes and tucking them back behind her ear.

An unfamiliar awkwardness blossomed between them. Courtney stood and crossed the room, passing Sam's bed without looking up, going to the door. Sam didn't move.

There were only two times in the history of their friendship when they found they could not speak to each other. Both had involved Courtney and a rule of the House being broken for a man. One had been on Sam's behalf and had saved her life; the other was very much like this current situation in its beginnings. This rendezvous of Courtney's jumped to the front of Sam's mind instantly and she frowned as her friend left the room with only a half smile and a wave instead of the customary parting hug. She didn't doubt that Courtney was in the same state of mind, but in a lot more pain. This could be as bad as it got is Courtney wasn't smart. Jax was a philanthropist, true enough, but his reputation also stretched as far south as philanderer.

"Cours… be careful, love," Sam sighed at the closed door. Courtney did not reappear to assure her best friend that everything would be fine. She was left feeling desperately hollow, worried and, worst of all, lonely.

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(Alrighty, let me know what you think! Reviews are wonderful. - Thank you, the two of you the reviewed the last chapter. -)  



	3. Footsteps to Follow

(Alrighty, chapter 3 up at long last! Better late than never, hmmm?

Actually... I hate this chapter. I think it's probably the worst thing I have ever written. I don't know what happened. I just haven't been able to focus. I'll probably come back and edit the hell out of this chapter, just to make it acceptable. No worries, though! Next chapter is Robin and then the intros will be done for a while and I can actually move on with the story XD.

Anyway, feel free to read and review. There's no need to tell me how bad it is, though: I already know.)

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**Chapter 3: Footsteps to Follow**

Agent Black knew he was in trouble. His quarry had somehow managed to escape his sight, and by doing so took the feeble advantage of surprise he had scrounged up early in the encounter. For nearly a full hour he had been stationed on the backyard porch, peering diligently through the glass of the slightly ajar door, waiting patiently for the perfect opportunity to strike.

When he thought he had it he found his victim sitting alone in the living room, leaning back against the plush sofa with his eyes toward the ceiling in an effort to relax after a long day of 'business' meetings and visits from various lookouts, enforcers and bodyguards. Black had moved in slowly, staying near the wall. He was a small guy, able to slip in and out of places without being caught. It was one of things he was known for, in fact, and he was quite proud of the reputation.

A lot of good it was doing him now, crouched as he was with his back against the corner created by the wall beneath a set of stairs and the one with the door he had used to gain entrance to the plush house, his heart pounding in his ears and his hands white as they gripped the gun in anxious patience. His target had received a final, unaccounted for visitor that day, and that threw Black's well laid assassination plan into chaos.

The butterfly that beat its wings and created this hurricane of an occupational disaster was a woman, and not the one his target was supposedly married to. The two had gone up the stairs, whispering and laughing together in a secretive, adulterous way: as if they imagined the walls alive with recorders and live bugs. Black couldn't follow them. He could not risk his commission and, ultimately, his entire reputation by letting a third party get involved. This woman was nothing to him: she was not his target and thus not worth the money it cost to load his gun.

He cast a furtive glance around, ran his hand through his thick red hair, and then pressed the display of his digital watch. The face lit up in pale green, reading at a quarter past six in the evening. Another hour wasted in this pursuit. That was fine. Black had all the time in the world to waste, if the end result came out as he intended. There was nothing else for him to be doing, anyway, considering he didn't have a day job. This was his both his occupation and his pleasure: Agent Black could wait.

Black was not a name given to him by any superior. It wasn't even a nickname passed on to him by his partners in the craft. He had knighted himself with the goofy moniker when he was new to the enterprise, and had since not had the heart to change it to something more suited to his ability and style. He knew it was childish, especially when he heard it called from across a room, but it was his nonetheless. He wasn't the kind of guy that thought people needed to grow up fast: a lesson it took him ten years to learn.

A creaking door and muffled voices above shifted Black back into attack-mode. He eased his body weight from his tailbone to his knees, taking three long, crouched steps towards the base of the stairs. Planting his feet squarely apart, he raising his gun, one finger on the trigger. One shot and this game would be over.

Heavy footsteps drew closer, falling with a rhythmic pace that the Agent had come to recognize as his targets. Drawing in one final, tight breath, Black timed out the steps as his almost-victim descended the stairwell. With a nod of his head he pushed away from the wall, planting his right foot and using it to force himself upright, pivoting around the corner as he went, gun leveled for the final shot.

Sonny Corinthos stood on the second to last stair, his own gun raised, a look of faint boredom flashing across his fathomless, dark eyes. A foot too far back, half a foot too high. Agent Black attempted to correct his aim, lifting his arms and locking his elbows, but he knew he had made a fatal mistake. The game was indeed over, but because of an error in calculation, the underdog had suddenly claimed victory.

Standing with easy confidence, Sonny tightened his grip on the gun, easing his finger over the trigger and watching with experienced eyes as his would-be assassin took his last look at the mob-boss he failed to defeat. Grinning slightly and nodding his head in a respectful, almost apologetic way, Sonny pulled the trigger and let the body hit the floor.

* * *

Port Charles was home to more criminals than innocent citizens. At least that was how it felt to the residents of good intentions. Everyday the local news was sprinkled with updates of mob wars and activities, of muggings, beatings, robberies and even the occasional, ever mysterious murder. There was never an ending to most of the criminal reports: the most the public got was the circumstance and the subsequent arrest that put their minds at ease. What happened after that was considered by popular opinion to be more underhanded than any of the crimes that preceded it. 

It wasn't that the entire police department was corrupt: just the key parts. Only the people that Sonny, or any gangster like him, could use to make sure he stayed out of jail found themselves getting blackmailed, threatened or, if they were easily seduced by the way Sonny did business, put on the payroll. There was the obvious line between 'good cop' and 'bad cop', and the department constantly sought to cleanse the latter from their conscience, but there was also a gray area that no one wanted to acknowledge. That was where Sonny thrived, taking advantage of those that needed money desperately to make his own illegal activities vanish, or at the very least become disconnected from him.

It was human nature to want to survive. That was a clean, simple fact that every person born into the world understood subconsciously from the get-go. The details didn't matter. A father can't bear the thought of having his family living on the streets. A mother needs to send her children to college. An unexpected stay in the hospital has completely emptied the family's savings account. A miserable man can't kick his gambling habit. Everyone, at one point in their life, finds themselves in a hole that was just too deep to climb out of alone. Unfortunately for those working at the PCPD, Sonny had people who were constantly on the look out for cataclysmic events like these to exploit.

Still, there were worse fates out there. Of all the mobsters and other vagrants, Sonny Corinthos was considered one of the most chivalrous. Dangerously, terrifyingly, fatally chivalrous. He knew how to run his business and keep it above the law, his enemies, and internal upheaval. No one in the Corinthos organization thought about insurrection. No one who opposed him did so in an open, threatening manner. No one at the PCPD had the fortitude to come after him. He was good to those that he needed, to the people that protected him and served him, but he was known for his quick, effective way of handling problems. Even those closest to him couldn't help but look at him with a strange mixture of respect, fear and loyalty. He was the kind of man people hesitated to get involved with, but would die for once the ink was dry on the contracts.

As with every rule, there was an exception. Lorenzo Alcazar held the most territory and had more men at his disposal than any other syndicate in or around Port Charles. He was Sonny's biggest rival, and neither hid their loathing very well. Alcazar was in a constant state of threatened anxiety because Sonny held the docks so securely that no other business could unload ships through the ports without first going through the Corinthos connections. As powerful as he was, this handicap considerably limited Alcazar's out-of-country shipping and dealings. It was a major thorn in his side, and he was consistently trying to remove it without landing himself in jail.

Sonny never really worried about being killed, or having his business sabotaged. On top of his strangle hold over shipping in and out of Port Charles he had on his payroll two of the most affective people in the trade. The first was his Enforcer, who was a legend in his own right: Jason Morgan. The second was his brother, Ric Lansing, who was also married to the DA and one of the most talented defense attorneys in the state.

Jason was strong, agile, and fatally accurate with a gun: a highly trained killing machine in battle who would do anything to ensure the survival of his boss, the man he considered his best friend. He was fiercely loyal, proving it every time he takes an order without question or comment. He knows how to do his job, and he does so with such ruthless grace that he is widely feared. Sonny would by lying if he said he didn't rely on this reputation to keep threats at bay.

Ric, on the other hand, was smart and tactical. Where Jason was the muscle, Ric was the brains. He and Sonny were as close as they could be while still keeping up the appearance of playing opposite sides of the fence. Jason was Sonny's best friend, but also his second in command. He could be trusted to do anything, no matter the legality of it. Ric worked for the state, and with that came certain limits to how far he could protect Sonny. Making smaller court offenses disappear was common work for him on his brother's behalf, but asking for anything more made the counselor of loose moral standards nervous. He was married to one of the best criminal prosecutors in the state, and that came with risks. Sonny didn't push it. He knew how to manipulate the courts without having to risk Ric's reputation or personal life.

Sonny knew how important family was to a man.

His two sons were the loves of his life. Michael, the eldest son, was a carbon copy of his mother in personality and looks, while Morgan, still a toddler, grew to resemble his father more and more each passing day. Sonny couldn't imagine a world without them, and did everything in his power to keep them safe. Needless to say, he succeeded pretty well. They were guarded, but far from sheltered. He spends time with them while making sure to keep them away from his business. He laughs with them, takes them to the park, watches TV with them, plays silly, embarrassing games with them: everything a father should do. He loved them, regardless of his standing with their mother.

Carly Corinthos was not a woman he kept in high regard. They were once in love, true enough, and through that love gave life to two of the sweetest children on the planet. Carly, despite her vows, was a wanderer. Sonny had the reputation of a playboy. Their personalities, on the base level of their characters, were inherently incompatible. But somehow they had managed through all of the affairs and flings for a marriage that lasted four years. It was Carly who crossed the final line when she became involved with Sonny's biggest competitor and most dangerous rival, Lorenzo Alcazar. As far as Sonny was concerned, he could have her. He was in love with another woman, anyway.

There was a woman in his life that occupied his every waking thought. She was beautiful, like a goddess, and as stronger than one so impossibly intoxicating should be. Her name was Reese Marshall, and she was an investigator for the PCPD. Realistically, their relationship was inconceivable.

Love wasn't really known for being sensible.

* * *

"Sonny, are you okay?" A soft yet firm voice called from down the hall. Reese appeared around the corner, fixing the buttons on her blouse as she moved down the stairs to join her lover. She slipped her arms around his waist, and noticed the gun he was holding casually at his side, "I don't get it." 

Sonny smiled at her, turning and removing her arms from his body carefully, a sign that they were in the company of someone who didn't know about them. She followed his eyes and saw Michael playing dead on the floor. His shirt was wet, a green and orange squirt gun on the floor beside him. Sonny raised his own gun, purple and red, and fired a weak stream of water in the air.

"Unfinished business," He said casually as he stooped beside his son and placed a hand on the young boys shoulder. "Michael, I thought you were playing in the guesthouse with Morgan and Max?"

"I was." Michael chirped, sitting up abruptly and grinning pleasantly at his father and the detective, "but we left the score tied, and I wanted to see if I could get you this time. I guess not."

With a laugh, "I guess not, too. Now go on, I have important work to get done and I can't have you running around soaking the paperwork. Go see if you can't kill Max. But don't get your brother wet, okay? He's still getting over his cold."

"Okay, dad!" Michael leapt to his feet, taking both his squirt gun and his father's, and then left through the back door, shutting it behind him. Sonny went over to it and made sure it was locked before returning to Reese. She was waiting for him with a look that puzzled him. It was somewhere between amusement, mocking and devotion. He liked it, whatever it meant.

"What?" He asked, taking her hands and putting them back around his waist, his body fitting against hers as if they were designed for each other's embrace. She rested her head against his chest, closing her eyes to listen to the calm beat of his heart.

"It's like watching a different person. I've seen you at work, and I've seen you at home. You're so… cute with them."

"Spread that around. I'd love for my rivals to find out about how cute I am," he hugged her tightly, then moved his hands up her body until they met each other under her chin. She looked up at him and his lips met hers. When he broke the kiss after a long, passionate moment he found her staring at him in wonder. Smiling, he answered her question before she asked it, "because I love you."

The cherry blush that crawled across her cheeks made his heart melt. She bowed her head, her thick, wavy brown hair falling forward in a wave. She raised her hand to brush it back behind her ears as Sonny did the same, their hands moving in perfect unison, one over the other. Laughing, Reese moved away from him, down the stairs and into the living room. He watched her go, frowning in disappointment. A glance over her shoulder reassured him that she felt the same way, but she was conflicted.

"I should go. It's not fair for me to be here when you have the kids. For them, or for you. You love them, too, you know."

Reese knew that recently Carly had been monopolizing her time with the boys. She had every right to, of course, considering she was their mother and Sonny did his best to keep her happy. He let her do as she wanted to make sure she did not take them away from him completely. The courts were very familiar with Sonny's reputation: he would not win a custody case against his ex-wife no matter how many strings he pulled. Reese did not want to make Sonny lose any time he had with his boys. She understood what they meant to him, and despite how much she loved him, she knew it was for the best that they remained ignorant of their father's relationship.

"Yeah, I know." He waved his hand and crossed to her, using his body to tell her she should stay. It was hard for her to fight him off, his sensuality perilously magnetic. Giggling, she pushed against his shoulders as he tilted his head to chew on her neck.

"Sonny."

Sighing and raising his hands in defeat, he took a step back, "Okay, all right. If you think you should go…"

"I do. But… how about I come back? After you put them to bed?" She nodded at him suggestively and he nodded, taking the moment to give her one last parting kiss. They lingered for a long moment, savoring the taste of their affair. The investigator closed her eyes as Sonny pressed her closer, his hands exploring her lithe body, working her clothes into disarray.

Their lips still touching, her breath coming in short gasps as he breathed her in deeply, he said, "I can't wait."

* * *

(There it is! Hopefully I'll get chapter 4 up much faster. XD ) 


	4. At First Sight

(So, basically, I'm a liar. I said I would get this chapter up faster and I didn't. I said it would be about Robin and it isn't.

Sonny, Ric, Carly and Jason make it into this chapter! Plus, a little bit of Pre-Couple JaSam fluff!

Read and Review! Tell me what ya think, homies.

Chill.)

* * *

**Chapter 4: At First Sight**  
She lingered in his mind for a long time after she was gone, the shadow of her touch still exciting the hairs on his arm to stand on edge. He stood watching the door, willing it to open and reveal her waiting for him on the other side, a playful grin on her face. The sensible part of his nature told him that she had left, gone off to work or back to her apartment, yet he couldn't help himself. 

He wanted her more than anyone, anything he had ever experienced. She captivated him with her every move, stealing from him all rational thought. His only desire was to have her in his arms, the smell of her skin intoxicating, her hair falling over his body in soft waves as they breathed each other in.

He leaned forward on the sofa, sitting on the very edge with his elbows on his knees, arms dangling listlessly floorwards and his head hanging in a similar way. He loved her. There was no other reason for the immortal butterflies fluttering spitefully in his stomach every instant of every moment he couldn't see her face or hear her voice. He loved her more than he thought his battered and broken consciousness could allow. With his ex-wife things had been tumultuous: not a bond of holy matrimony but a knot of deceit and chaos, each lie spinning them inexorably deeper into their own hatred and misery. Four years of unwavering cheating hardened his heart to all things romantic, creating part of the successful mobster the underworld knew now.

The irony of a private investigator from the local police department shattering this defense with no more effort than a smile in his direction was scathing.

Unable to stifle himself, Sonny stood and crossed the room to the mini bar. He poured himself a drink but hesitated as the glass touched his lips. Sighing, he put it down and rubbed his temples with one hand; forefinger and thumb. Anticipating her return made his yearning a thousand times more potent. He couldn't ask for a more sublime torture.

The sliding door that escaped into the back garden opened and a blur of red hair and freckles rushed in, leaving small puddles of water and mud in his wake. He was half way up the stairs before his father's voice caught him.

"Hey, hey! You're soaked. Get down here as soon as you're out of those wet clothes to clean this mess up."

"Aww!" The young boy stomped up the rest of the stairs, stomped into his room, shut the door to his room with not-quite-enough force to be called a slam, and then stomped around some more to drive his point home. Sonny grinned and listened, knowing full well the boy's protests would go no further than this. As the thuds dulled down Max entered, Morgan at his side. Max closed the door behind them before ushering the toddler up the stairs to his room.

"You're looking a little damp, there, Max."

The water strangled body guard snorted a laugh and did his best to smooth his bedraggled clothes, succeeding only to wring a small flood of water from his sleeves. With Sonny's warning against getting his younger brother wet, Michael turned all of his aqueous aggression on Max: including the implementation of the garden hose as a final line of defense. Sonny looked disapprovingly at the growing lagoon expanding at Max's feet.

Raising one foot in a reactionary effort to alleviate the problem, Max winced an apology, "Sir- I'll clean this up right away."

"Nah," Sonny said impassively, inclining his head towards the door on the other side of the room, "Leave it for Michael to clean up. He's got to learn not to get himself messy like that. Go dry off."

Nodding, shamefaced but appreciative, Max hurried across the room and out the door into the main foyer. From there he took the stairs across the hall to the guest room he called home.

Sonny felt comfortable, the soothing affects of paternal pride calming his nerves. As if on cue, Morgan tottered down the stairs and climbed onto the sofa, a book in his hand and a loving, imploring look on his face. Smiling, Sonny joined his youngest son on the sofa, accepting the book as it was offered.

"What's this?"

"Can you read it?" Morgan asked politely, his reserved nature epitomized by his downcast eyes and the way he hugged his knees. Sonny opened to the first page of the short picture book and Morgan scooted closer. The two bonded through the first seven pages before Michael interrupted, poking his head over the back of the sofa between those of his father and brother.

"How am I supposed to clean this up?"

"Go into the kitchen and find a towel. Latisha can help you with the soap. But don't let me catch her doing the work, got it?"

"Got it. Come on, Morgan: you can help me!" Morgan spelunked obediently from the sofa and joined his brother as he started off towards the kitchen. Sonny closed the book and looked over his shoulder at his sons.

"And don't make Morgan do it," he called casually. Three stomps were his response. The door from the foyer opened and Milo, Max's younger, less professional brother, poked his head in.

"A Ric Lansing is here to see you… I didn't know if you wanted to be disturbed, since you didn't let me know…" Milo was new to the business and still learning the names and faces of his new extended family. The only two people he could recognize on sight, besides his brother, were Sonny, the big boss, and his second in command Jason. Knowing this, Sonny rolled his shoulders and said,

"That's my brother, Milo: unless I say I don't want interruptions you don't have to clear his visits."

Cursing silently, Milo backed out of the room, "Sorry, sir." Ric slipped into the room as Milo closed the door.

"Cute kid," Ric said with a sarcastic smirk, "He yours?"

"Max's brother. Just giving him a chance, out of respect for the work Max does." Sonny drained the drink he poured earlier and motioned to the bar, silently asking Ric his preference. Ric declined with a wave of his hand and Sonny poured himself another glass, "What brings you here, Counselor?"

Ric tilted his head and grinned. He hadn't stopped smiling since he entered, which put Sonny slightly on edge. His younger brother was born and raised in another world. One that wasn't half as dark as the one Sonny knew. He wasn't used to people acting mischievous without danger, to smiling without an ulterior motive. Every face was a mask: he could not recognize genuine good intentions.

"Actually, it's not business, really. Some fun, actually. Sort of a guys night out, courtesy of my first anniversary."

"Well, congratulations. What do you have in mind?"

"I've heard some interesting things about the House-"

"Whoa, whoa. I'm not sure you've heard enough about that place, Little Brother." Sonny couldn't help but be amused at what he took for naivety, "I wonder what Mrs. District Attorney Lansing would say?"

" 'Have fun, but don't go crazy or I'll ruin your career and home life' and something about trusting me, but onlu the scary part stuck." At his brother's disbelieving expression he added, "Really. When Alexis and I were married I didn't have a bachelor party. This year I got her a necklace and she gave me a night off… with provisions, of course."

"Of course," Sonny scoffed. A proposal like that during his marriage with Carly would have resulted in one more notch in their respective bedposts. He suddenly found himself thinking of Reese and how he never wanted to betray her like that, "Well, don't think of asking me to go with you."

"I-I was, actually. Come on: it's not you're the one that's married!"

"I am seeing someone."

"Oh. That thing with Reese? I didn't think that was serious."

"Well…" He floundered, caught between protecting their reputations an professing his love, "it's not…"

"Then what's the problem? Look, I invited Jax. I know you don't like him, but you want to talk to him about the moves he's making against AJ, right? So-"

"You're turning a night at a strip club into a business meeting just to get me there?"

"If that's what it takes, yes."

The phone on the table near the sofa began to ring. Sonny moved to it without looking at Ric, afraid that if he would be convinced to go where his better judgment told him not to. Glass in hand, he picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear.

"Yeah?"

The voice on the other end was steady and level: his working tone, "I've been following Carly. She's with Alcazar now, but I think she's up to something."

"Tell me."

* * *

Caroline Benson was a woman of inexhaustible tenacity, beauty, vigor and cunning. Her wiles fascinated and ensnared the glances of every man she passed, single or otherwise. The magnetic aura radiating from her sleek, dangerously subtle frame created an adverse reaction from women in the same scenario, bringing forward in them the most jealous parts of their nature. 

She was strong, proud, and unbroken. Her past was dead and gone, her future bright and being decided as she lived every moment. She let nothing bind her, nothing slow her. She loved and learned, moved on when things went wrong and clung to all that was good. She was used to things withering, and did not fear change.

The only things she took as permanent in her life were her boys. Morgan and Michael were the enduring staples of her day, her every waking thought always managing to get back to them as she worked her way through the stress of each hour apart from them. When they were with their father she feared for them, when they were at school she missed them terribly. She loved them unconditionally, her maternal instincts as fierce and vicious as a lioness.

She had a small problem with using her words. It was an inherent part of her nature to get mad first, yell next and forget to ask questions completely. She found herself wrong more often than she liked to admit. She didn't like to apologize, and never backed down from a verbal challenge. The word stubborn didn't do her personality justice: she was bold and straight forward. Mincing words, saving feelings and sugar coating were fine in moderation, but she preferred to opposite more than not. There were few people who could survive through a conversation with her without feeling physically beaten afterwards.

Sonny Corinthos was once the love of Carly's life. She knew he thought the same way about her. They wouldn't have started a family together, much less add to it, if that had not been the case. Unfortunately, their love never seemed strong enough. He said it was half her fault that their marriage disintegrated, but to her his indiscretions amounted to far more damage than her own.

Even thinking about Sonny got her blood to boiling. She hated the way he made her feel. If he was allowed to move on with that tramp he was so surreptitiously bedding than why shouldn't she do the same? Sonny had no right to be angry with her over her choice, and she certainly wouldn't stand having him use her best friend to spy on her.

Flexing her shoulders in an irritated, tight motion of subdued rage, she fixed her stinging cerulean eyes on the attractive man across the table.

"I don't owe Sonny any explanations," she said resolutely, unblinking. She folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in the seat, looking at him with a grimace that just dared him to push her.

Jason shook his head, rubbing his eyes as he breathed a sigh through his nose. He had been Carly's friend for as long as she had been with Sonny, and he had a feeling they would remain close despite the current feud between the ex-lovers. Carly, while never a lover, was the one woman Jason could always talk to without feeling awkward with or like he was faking. Something, he didn't know what, just clicked with her. She was intelligent, crafty and strong. He liked her because she knew how to survive.

"Yeah, well, you do." He shrugged and looked over his shoulder absently. He knew this conversation was over no matter what he tried, and he didn't want her harping at him for something he was doing as a favor to his boss. Kelly's was almost empty, the regular crowd inexplicably absent from the cozy diner. Mike, the owner, was at the counter laughing brightly with a short woman with black hair at the counter.

Jason's eyes lingered on the woman's small frame, looking her over more to identify rather than check her out. He didn't know her from anywhere, yet he recognized the way her hips moved when she spoke. Carly tilted her head at him, surprised and amused by his sudden distraction.

"I hear pictures last longer," she quipped, reaching over and stealing his coffee mug after draining the last of hers.

"What?" Carly was amazed that he didn't hurt his neck when he turned back to her sharply. He fixed her with a stoic, yet strangely disapproving stare. She smiled coyly at him, running her finger around the lip of the mug and batting her eyes with faux sweetness, "I just wanted to see who Mike was talking to."

"Mhm. She's pretty. A bit young for him, don't you think?" She looked past him, over his shoulder at the woman who provided an excellent diversion from Sonny and his attempted strangle-hold on her life. Smiling, she began to rise, pushing the seat back. The woman at the counter instinctively swiveled at the sound and, still beaming from whatever joke Mike was teasing her with, looked at Carly without interest. She turned back a moment later, not even noticing Jason.

Jason, however, noticed her. He took in everything he could about her face and movements, as he normally did when seeing someone for the first time. Total recall was an important skill in his line of work, and he used moments like this to practice. The moment his eyes fell over her face her knew he was just making excuses to cop out to when Carly pestered him later. This woman was beautiful, the likes that he had never seen before. He couldn't help himself.

Carly continued to stand pointlessly for a few moments, then plopped back in her seat, scooting back in with a high pitched scrape that, this time, the woman did not respond to.

"I wonder how she knows Mike," Carly said wistfully, placing her chin in her hands and tilting her head at Jason, who had his back to the counter but was desperately trying not to make eye contact with his friend, "they seem close, but I've never seen her before. Maybe Sonny knows her."

"I don't know. Come on, Carly, stop playing games. All Sonny is trying to do is protect you. Alcazar is a dangerous man-"

"So is Sonny! They do the _same thing_. Seriously, you can't expect me to stop seeing Lorenzo because he's a mobster: I was married to one for four years!"

"Sonny and Alcazar are not the same kind of man."

"Look," Carly stood abruptly, slamming the palms of her hands against the table top. This time all heads turned towards her, eyebrows raised in almost comical unison at her display, "I don't need you to explain to me how good a man Sonny is compared to Lorenzo. I know you're completely loyal to Sonny: but I'm not. Hell, that should have been clear during the last years of our marriage. I don't need this: I didn't ask for this. I'm going to see him and you can't stop me, so don't try."

Jason watched her, trying to look cool. He couldn't mask his surprise.

"I mean… keep seeing him. I'm going to –keep- seeing him. Ugh, look, I have to go." She grabbed her bag and coat as she rushed out the door, stopping only to call, "and don't follow me!" before rushing off, the bell on the door ringing as she went.

A few chuckles and mumbles followed her exit, but no one seemed too disturbed. The few occupants returned to their meals and conversations and left Jason to mull things over in peace. In knew what she had meant. She was going to see Alcazar right now. He wouldn't have had to follow her if not for one crucial detail.

According to his sources, Lorenzo Alcazar was away dealing with a family matter out of state, and had asked for a momentary truth between the families in his absence. If he was here that meant he was planning something while the rest of the underworld was unsuspecting. Jason had to be sure.

He rose calmly, walking to the counter and paying for the coffees up front. Mike and Jason had a short, but complicated history, and neither felt the need to exchange a word. The woman, however, was far too tickled to contain herself.

"That's quite a woman you have there, handsome." He cast her a sidelong glance, meeting her brilliant hazel eyes with his own piercing, nearly clear blue eyes. She uttered an audible gasp and quickly looked away, deep red rushing across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Jason grinned despite himself, and then moved away from the counter, crossing the diner to get his coat from the rack near the door. He exited without looking back at the woman, unaware that she was watching him as keenly now as he was her before. Pulling his leather jacket over his shoulders, he followed Carly's at a distance.

He had been right. She reached the Alcazar mansion and opened the door with her own key. There were no men stationed at the doors. Jason assumed that this was just a front to keep up the appearance that he was away. Cameras and men watching from windows were probably acting as the defense system inside.

Carly was not living at the mansion with her new beau. While causing mischief was her forte, she was not about to put her children in the middle of a dangerous situation. Sonny and Alcazar were enemies. Carly strived to keep her sons sheltered from the world Sonny lived in. Moving them in with Alcazar spelled all kinds of trouble, most of which the boys would witness. There was no way Sonny would allow it to happen, anyway. So Carly kept this aspect of her life relatively simple by keeping her own house where she lived with the boys, visiting Lorenzo when she had a babysitter or when the kids were visiting their father. It was the best compromise for everyone involved.

After all, Lorenzo wasn't much of a 'father' kind of guy.

Jason moved stealthily around the hedges, keeping low and out of sight, keeping a wide berth from the house. All he needed was a glimpse of Lorenzo in person, and then he could leave Carly to her affair and report back to his employer. This could be just the opportunity Sonny was looking for to push Alcazar out of his territory.

Imaging the layout of the house in his mind, Jason followed what he guessed was Carly's path. He watched the windows keenly. It was dark inside the house, but movement was always easy to follow. He caught sight of a waving curtain and, though the shroud of material covering the window, recognized the form of a person inside the first level room. A living room or meeting room, he thought absently. The decision to risk moving closer came quickly, and he stalked carefully towards the house until he was below the window, robed in the shadows spilling from the roof as the sun set on the other side. He peered, squinting, into the room, a slight fold in the curtain the only peep-hole he was allowed.

It was enough.

Carly and Lorenzo stood near the center of the room in each others arms, exchanging soft words and tender looks. Jason winced and pulled himself away, eager to get as far away from the scene as soon as possible. He felt a stab of betrayal, and Carly had never even been his. She could have had any other man in the world, but she had to pick Sonny's greatest rival. No matter how hard she denied it, the spite in this action was impossible to miss.

Jason found himself wandering back towards Kelly's. He took out his cellphone and hit the first number on the speed dial. Holding the phone to his ear, he tilted his head and stared into the diner, noticing with slight disappointment that Mike was cleaning a cup in standard diner-owner form, but the woman that had infatuated him was no longer at the counter. He moved away from the diner as the phone started to ring, walking in the direction of the docks.

Sonny's gruff, distracted voice came on the other line, "Yeah?"

"I've been following Carly. She's with Alcazar now, but I think she's up to something."

"Tell me."

Jason did so with a collected, professional precision. He neglected to bring up the woman in the diner. He didn't notice her standing at the other end of the docks, watching him with a quizzical, harmless expression.

* * *

"You're sure he was there?" 

"Positive. She was with him in his mansion."

Sonny sighed and leaned back in the sofa, his head threatening to explode as tension mounted where the base of his skull met his neck, crawling agonizingly through his shoulders and up into his temples. Alcazar was planning something, and Carly knew about it. She was in Sonny's house hours earlier, dropping the boys off for their weekend with their father, and yet she hadn't said anything. She even went out of her way to imply that she was missing Alcazar while he was away.

She was playing with not only Sonny's life, but the lives of her children. He wasn't going to stand for that.

"Get over here, Jason. And change into something comfortable on the way. Ric's taking us out tonight." Sonny hung up, grinning at the look he knew Jason had on his face at that cryptic message. Ric arched an eyebrow, leaning against the arm of the sofa on the opposite side.

"What changed your mind?"

"Nothing. This isn't for fun: I'm taking you up on the business part of your offer."

Ric smirked, "Of course. Well, I'm sure you'll get a lot out of it. I'm glad you're coming. It means a lot to me, bro."

"Yeah, yeah," Sonny looked the phone, dreading the number waiting at the tips of his fingers to be dialed. He hated the idea of canceling on her.

It felt like he was reliving the start of the destruction of his life with Carly all over again. The déjà vu was unbearable. How many times had he forsaken a date with his wife to go to a bar, a strip club, or a more sinister locale? More than he could recall, faces and places blurring into each other as he tried to force them from his memory.

Right now the last thing he wanted for Reese was to treat her like they were married.


	5. In The Life Of: Doctor

(Okay, so this is a cheat. I went away on a small vacation after writing this and I didn't get around to writing the second half and now I feel bad that it's taking me so long to finish. So I'll upload in segments and maybe export and combine it later. This is chapter 5.1: In The Life Of. It focuses on Robin Scorpio and her work. Next up, the final half of chapter 5, will be Lucky Spencer.

So consider this a sneak peak, or something. Enjoy!)

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**Chapter 5.1: In The Life Of  
**

The morning sunlight, filtered by closed shutters into thin bars, fell across tightly drawn dark green curtains, effectively keeping the room behind the window dark. The thickness and color of the fabric absorbed the warmth of the climbing sun and, despite the winter outside, the bedroom was comfortably toasty. The rise in temperature, normally more than enough to rouse her from the deepest of sleeps, had little affect on Robin Scorpio this morning. She let out a groan, despising the brightness and everyone awake at this hour, and rolled onto her stomach to shed the heavy quilt. It did not care to be tossed aside after a devoted night of protecting her so easily and wrapped itself around her legs in protest.

Old Man meowed and leapt onto the bed. He began to purr, the sound resonating in his chest like a motor, rubbing her face with his. The lithe cat was a mix of long and short fur. As a result he looked scruffy, no matter how frequently he groomed. His creamy white fur was blotched with orange-brown spots, as if aged by the sun, and when he stared he would squint his vacant yellow eyes like his sight wasn't quite what it should be. His whiskers looked like a long white moustache and his meow was throaty and soft. All of this combined assured him his name the first time Robin laid eyes on him at the local animal shelter.

The joke was that he was only two years old. She couldn't help but love him. He was her confidant, someone she could talk to without being judged or teased. He didn't pity her, or act like she was made of glass. All he knew was that she was his master, the one with all the food and the nice warm hands. That was enough for the both of them.

"I'm going to kill you, Old Man." The cat mewed at the sound of her voice and redoubled his purr, butting his head against her cheek. His stomach eliminated the need for an alarm clock. He never allowed her to sleep past eight if she was home at that hour, "Okay, alright: I'm getting up."

Robin kicked her legs free of the mutinous blankets and sat up in the bed, her feet on the floor and the cat in her arms. He was all purrs and love, rubbing his body against her chest and looking up at her with doting, expectant eyes. He knew this part of the routine: she was giving in, getting him what he wanted. She stood and, stifling a yawn, carried the animal across the apartment into the kitchen. She dropped him on the tiled floor and he promptly weaved his long body through her legs. She dumped a half cup of indoor-recipe dry cat food into a bowl and mindlessly set if down for him.

The feline instantly forgot his everlasting love for his owner and attacked the food voraciously. Robin ran her hand across Old Man's fur and then left him to his breakfast, entering the living room with arms wide as she stretched out her shoulders.

Eight in the morning. It wasn't a particularly early hour by her regular schedule, but her body knew it could get away with a couple more hours of sleep this morning and refused to shake off that morning sluggishness that accompanied early wake-ups; even after her first and then second cup of coffee. After downing her third cup of the tasteless black brew she stood from the preposterously comfortable leather recliner and returned the coffee pot to its vital home atop a short bookshelf.

The apartment was, in a word, comfortable. It wasn't very feminine, leaning more to "bachelor pad" over anything else. Besides the pink and blue toys that dotted the floor, the apartment was sparsely decorated and the color palette was limited to black, dark greens and browns. Leather dominated the furniture and deep cherry wood replaced it where fabric failed.

The living room furnishings consisted of the recliner, a bookshelf, a flat screen plasma TV mounted in a corner near sliding door to the balcony, a coffee table littered with paper, and a matching loveseat for the recliner. They belonged to her father back when she had a happy family. Before the boat accident that claimed the lives of both her adventuring parents. She clung to the memories of each of them in different ways. When ever she sat down in one of the beaten leather seats she could feel the warmth and safety of her father's arms around her.

Across from her bedroom door was the island, a fully stocked but rarely used bar, that separated the kitchen and living room and beyond that the kitchen itself, with its green marble countertops and dark brown cabinets. Robin was fond of cooking, though she only had herself to feed. It was relaxing and lonely: a welcomed change from her job.

There was a spare bedroom next to hers, marginally smaller, but since she never used it there was only a bed and three large bookshelfs: a makeshift medical library.

Robin crossed the large expanse of the living room and returned to her bedroom. She checked the clock on her nightstand and was disappointed to find it read only eight thirty. Somehow she hadn't managed to make three cups of coffee last the untended hour. She sighed and decided she would make up for it in the shower.

The bathroom, the only one in the apartment, was a medium sized room connected to the master bedroom. If she had people over, a rare event indeed, they were made uncomfortable by the news that the toilet was in her room. Just one of a dozen reasons the guest room was never in use.

Robin ran the water ice cold and shut the door behind her before taking off her pajama slip. She made sure the door was secure by giving it a tug. Old Man loved the water. Robin loathed cleaning up after a wet cat. Following the first time he slipped in, a disaster of wet fur and carpet stains, Robin trained herself against a recurrence. She had to lock the door because the cat was a genius at opening doors. She was almost certain he was teaching himself how to pick the lock.

The opportunity to make a bad pun loomed tantalizingly overhead, but without company to groan in the wake it wasn't worth the effort.

Standing under the intense cold spray of the water, letting it run down her soapy body, Robin turned her first actual thoughts of the morning to the day ahead of her. As an Emergency Physician at General Hospital she was used to hectic hours and chaotic days. Doubling as one of the premier researchers in the state only added to her work load. She was used to and fond of the days when she was constantly on her feet, pushing medical science forward and saving lives.

She shut off the water, wrapped a towel round her body and used another to dry her long, reddish brown hair. She blow-dried her hair with meticulous familiarity, the hair falling through her fingers the same way it did the day before. She didn't spend much time on it. As long as it was straight she was fine. She pulled it back into a loose ponytail and moved out of the bathroom, leaving the second towel behind.

Pulling a pair of jeans and a red top from her closet, she got dressed at her leisure, painfully aware of how much time she had to waste before her shift started.

Old Man, finished with breakfast and his morning clean, returned to thank Robin. He daintily landed on the bed and looked up expectantly as his owner, who was fixing her make-up in the mirror. He mewed through a purr and she gave in, rubbing his ears. She checked the clock, saw that only an hour had passed, and sighed.

"I guess I'll just go to the hospital and check in. There's probably a ton of paper work waiting in my box," she said to the cat, who seemed to nod sagely. She often found that her best conversations were with her cat, rather than one particularly annoying colleague. It was a troubling thought, "be a good boy."

She left her apartment with a strange tingling in the back of her mind. It wasn't the familiar nagging that comes with forgetting something like keys or to turn off the television. It was a cold sort of creeping that vanished when she focused on it, leaving only a vague awkwardness in its wake. It was almost an 'I-have-a-bad-feeling-about-this', but she couldn't imagine what she might be worried about. She shrugged it off as a side affect from the break in her regular schedule and moved on to the elevator and down to the parking lot. She got into her car, a non-descript four door, revved the weak engine and started out onto the road.

She took the long way to the hospital, considering she only lived a few blocks away, and stopped at a small bakery for her fourth cup of coffee, which would last her the rest of the car ride and maybe the elevator into the hospital, and a small bag of fresh donuts. She rounded the staff parking lot with a glazed donut in her mouth and pulled into her reserved spot. She cut off the engine, finished her food, gathered her things and got out of the car.

Crossing the dark, expansive underground parking lot never failed to freak her out. She doubted she would ever get used to it. There something inherently creepy about a vacant, echoing cave filled with shadows and corners. Today was particularly unsettling, the incessant prickling hiding in the back of her mind making her paranoid and jittery. Or maybe it was all the coffee.

Whatever it was, it made her feet move faster. She reached the elevator panting, her heart beating in his throat. She swallowed hard but it wouldn't go down. With shaking hands she hit the button for the door. The immediate ding made her jump, and her coffee cup crashed to the floor from its perch atop her briefcase.

"Geez, get a grip," she mumbled to herself, sweeping the cup away with her foot and entering the cubical elevator. The doors slid closed and a soft, measured tune filled the air. She felt her pulse slowing, her mind easing back into neutral. By the time she reached her floor she was as serene as could be, a smile in her eyes and only the slightest of shadows flickering in the corner of her thin smile.

The hospital was strangely calm that morning. There didn't seem to be any emergencies in the ER, and the waiting area was unusually empty. The feeling of unease, which was becoming more and more familiar as the day progressed, settled into her limbs. Restless, she hurried to the front desk in search of some patient's malady to get lost in. There she found two of her colleagues, Dr Patrick Drake and Elizabeth Spencer, RN. Not a combination that could possibly be good.

Patrick was leaning on the desktop to Elizabeth's side, disrespecting her personal space by standing almost against her, speaking over her shoulder and into her ear. She looked distressed, her eyes scanning a chart she had almost memorized. She tried to brush him away with her shoulder and dismissive comments but he would not be deterred. He grinned like a wolf, hungry for the chase.

Drawing a deep breath, Robin knew it was her duty to rescue the nurse.

"Patrick, stop drooling on her," she said in haughty tone, tilting her head at him with an expression to match, "she's married. And you're a pig."

Patrick fixed Robin a look of surprise, his eyebrows raised and his eyes lighting curiously. He took a step back and Elizabeth wormed her way free, escaping past Robin with a thank you riding on her sigh. Robin nodded at her, a secret sign that they would talk later, and Elizabeth fled from the desk.

"You know, Robin, you really shouldn't let your jealousy get to you like that. I mean, it's bad enough you have to come in here early just to keep an eye on me. But accusing me of hitting on a married woman?" Patrick shook his head at her, as serious as could be. She gaped at him, lost for a blinding moment in his dimples, messy dark black hair and disorienting deep black eyes. He smiled, softer than the animal sneer he was giving Elizabeth.

"You're a pig, you know that?" Robin snorted, recovering as quickly as she could. She went behind the desk and grabbed a stack of charts, old paper work she knew she had to get done and had stored there just in case, and then walked away from the desk. Patrick followed her at a short distance, easily keeping pace with his long strides.

"Why don't you just admit you want me? You'll sleep better at night."

Robin caught the elevator as someone was leaving, the door sliding closed as she stuck out her hand. It dinged and opened for her. She entered and turned around, hitting the button that would take her to her office and then stared at Patrick one last time, trying to look as serious as she could.

"I sleep fine, thanks. And I don't think lying to myself would help anything."

"That sounds like someone who hasn't had good sex in a long time, but really, really wants it. With me." Patrick said flippantly. Robin was lucky the doors shut. It saved her the additional embarrassment of having Patrick witness how red her face turned.


	6. In The Life Of: Officer

(Alrighty. Part two of In the Life Of, featuring Lucky Spencer. I'll probably make this one chapter the next time I update, but for now enjoy it in two parts! Hahaha. It's three in the morning and I just completed this chapter. So if it sucks... well... that's why. Hahaha. Please read and review, anyway! )

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**Chapter 5.2: In the Life Of **

The work was supposed to be split between them. Hell, it wasn't even his idea so why should he get stuck finishing the job? If she hadn't planned on staying for the day then she shouldn't have insisted on starting that morning. He couldn't shake the feeling that this had been her plan all along. Let her come back tomorrow to an office buried in folders, old case files and notes. That would teach her for trying to sucker her partner into cleaning out the filing cabinets for her.

Somewhere underneath the gravity defying stacks of paper, manila envelopes and over stuffed folders was an old, battered desk. Small, dejected and creaky, the weathered pine table seemed hard pressed to support the unusual weight, plus the added stress of the man sitting in a rolling chair, hunched over the work top as he scribbled something on a form. It moaned threateningly each time he brought pen to paper, but he would not be scared off. In fact, Lucas Lorenzo Spencer Jr. was oblivious to almost everything around him.

The Port Charles Police Department was chaotic this morning. As Lucky worked diligently on his incident report the station was processing three people who didn't think four in the afternoon was too early to have some drunken fun, a teenager with sticky fingers and a woman who decided the bus stop near the hospital was her home and no one was invited to visit. The inebriated trio was engaged in an obnoxious shouting contest with the officer handling their arrest while the newly re-homeless woman was demanding retribution for the distress this sudden upheaval of her home life caused.

At least the teenager had enough sense to keep his mouth shut. He stood with his eyes downcast, hands cuffed behind his back, not saying a word to anyone. Not even the police commissioner.

None of this affected the focus that creased Lucky's forehead. All he had to do was finish this one last bit of paperwork and he was out the door and off to see his beautiful wife. Just one more paragraph and he would have her in his arms, relaxing in her company after a hard morning and, as he glanced at the clock, afternoon at the station. He had been here since four in the morning, when his partner had called him in to assist on an arrest. Then she somehow convinced him to stay and sort out the filing cabinets. And now she was gone. The evening was settling in fast and he was still trapped at the station.

Reese Marshall was a crafty one, but Lucky was used to it. They had been partners for almost two years now, and he had come to know her quirky schedule for what it was. She was visiting her boyfriend. Lucky didn't mind: she was a good cop and put in more than enough hours to cover her occasional absences. He didn't let on that he knew, and she didn't ask him to cover for her.

He did anyway, but at least she never asked him two.

"Spencer." The intercom on his desk buzzed as the secretary in the main lobby called to him. He braved paper cuts and dug out the phone, pressing the speaker button. The beep was enough to alert the secretary to continue, "I'm putting a complaint in to line two. A lurker over by Kelly's."

"Alright, thanks." Sighing, Lucky picked up the phone and hit the second line, "Lucky Spencer."

"Hello? Ah… this is Mike Corbin. I own a diner down by the docks, Kelly's, and recently there's been this man hanging around…" the man, who sounded like he was getting on in years but still held himself proudly, let his voice trail. Lucky didn't understand the hesitation, so he took it as a cue to speak.

"What kind of lurker, Mister Corbin?"

There was a full three second pause before Mike answered the prompt, "I haven't seen him before a couple of weeks ago. Shaved head, baggy clothes, dark glasses. You get used to that kind of crowd around here, but he's got these tattoos… as far as I can see they cover his body. You can see them on his hands and his neck. Anyway. There's this young lady that frequents my establishment…"

Lucky sat up in his desk, shoving the paper and pencil away from him and switching into intense-listening mode. He knew Mike was trying to hide something, his diction suddenly careful and his words coming out slowly.

"He seems to have picked up her schedule and he tends to appear just as she's entering or leaving. He never comes in, but he's getting bolder. He's been getting closer to the window, and he lingers longer. I'm afraid he'll follow her home or try something fishy."

"Well, sir, I'm not sure if there's much I can do. As far as I can see he hasn't done anything wrong. I suggest keeping an eye on him. If you give me some more information I might be able to drop by the place when he appears, just to check him out."

Again Mike took a moment before replying, "I wouldn't want to scare the young lady…"

"Don't worry, I'll be in street clothes. That area is my beat, so I'm familiar with most of the creeps that deal there. I know your establishment, at least by its front door, so staking it out won't be very hard. Your lady friend won't even know the cops are around. And neither will your lurker."

"She's not a 'lady friend'," Mike snapped, suddenly insulted, "she's like a daughter to me, and I would hate to see her hurt. But thank you… that would be a comfort to me."

"Good." He reached for a random piece of paper, turning it over to its blank side, and readied a pen, "just give me his schedule and I'll see what I can do." He took down the times for the week as Mike recalled them, his mind already comparing them to his own schedule and deciding on the best time to swing around the docks, "Alright, thank you. Now, can you tell me why you think this man poses a threat to your… uh… to the young woman?"

"He only shows up when she's around. I… uh… I understand that he might have recognized her from her… occupation, but that doesn't give him the right to stalk her. She's a sweet kid, and doesn't need this stress on top of everything else in her life," Lucky was stunned by the care this man was taking to protect his friend. Lucky was a cop, and he as such knew the kind of crowd that hung around Kelly's. He didn't miss the allusion to her 'job'. For Mike to call the police and risk having the girl he's trying to protect arrested denoted a serious situation.

"I understand," Lucky said, careful to match the sincerity in his tone to the urgency in Mike's, "I'll look in to it as soon as possible. I have the number for the diner; if something comes up I'll call you immediately before taking action."

"Thank you, son. I mean it. Not too many people would take such care for… something like this."

"Just trying to keep people safe. It's my job, after all."

"You're a good man. Thank you."

Lucky heard the line click and he replaced the phone on its hook. He felt humbled by the sudden respect he had earned from a man he only knew by reputation. A diner owner in a shady part of town who dealt with all kinds of criminals and low lives everyday of his career. A man who was more a protector of the civilian population than most people gave him credit for. Rubbing the top of his head, his short hair fuzzy under his fingertips, Lucky reveled in the smile that crossed his face. Men like that were a dime a dozen, he figured. Maybe heading down to his beat this afternoon wasn't such a bad idea. It meant an extra hour or so away from Elizabeth, but he knew she would understand.

Standing, he pulled his coat from behind his chair and tugged it over his shoulders, effectively disguising his holstered gun. He glanced around the office he shared with Reese, both of their desks covered and unrecognizable as work areas, then moved to the door. He shut off the light and locked the door behind him, the page with the notes he took from Mike in his back pocket.

"Lucky, just the man I was coming to see!"

Lucky turned to see Police Commissioner Mac Scorpio standing in front of him, a grin on his friendly face that said he knew more than he was going to say. It was a foreboding glisten in his eyes that almost always meant more work for Lucky.

"Why's that, sir?"

"See that boy over there?" Mac pointed to the silent teenager who had been brought in for pick-pocketing earlier. He was a sullen looking boy with short blond hair and an intelligent, strangely serene face. He was wearing loose jeans and an obscure movie T-shirt, his hands now cuffed in his lap rather than behind his back. He was sitting on a bench near the main desk, the secretary leaning across the counter and speaking to him with no results. Mac clapped Lucky on his solid shoulder, nodding sagely, "I need you to give him a ride home. Apparently he lives at the Quartermaine mansion. Up to the task of returning one of their wayward sheep?"

"The Quartermaines, huh? No wonder he was looking for trouble. That place is insane. One of my best friends… well… anyway, sure I'll give him a ride in the squad car. I was just heading out. Gotta follow up on a call."

"Good. Convenient. Then I'll see you tomorrow. I'll be here for the rest of the night, so call me if you run into problems with the Q's." Mac waved a thank you and moved to help the crowd of officers that could not get the old homeless woman to move from the top of an unsuspecting officers desk.

Lucky moved over to the boy, clearing his throat to gain his attention. The young man looked up obediently, his eyes dark but respectful and obedient.

"You're riding with me. What's you name, kid?"

"Dillon Quartermaine, sir," he answered, his face reddening with embarrassment. The kids inexperience was obvious. No wonder he got caught.

"Alright, get up then. I have to get out of here before they wrangle me into doing something else. You want to get home, don't you?"

"I'd rather spend the night in jail, thanks." He got to his feet awkwardly, maintaining eye contact with the officer. Lucky bid the secretary at the front desk goodbye before leading the miserable teenager to the garage and his squad car.

"Want to ride shot gun?"

"Do you do that with all your criminals?"

"I hate to burst your bubble, kid, but getting caught stealing someone's wallet does not make you a criminal." Lucky opened the passenger side door and motioned for Dillon to sit down. He instinctively put his hand on the boys shoulder and eased him into the seat, making sure he didn't hit his head, then pulled the seat belt down and locked it in place. He rounded the car and got into the drivers seat. Dillon was staring at the dashboard in front of him, his lower lip sticking out in a classic pout.

"How long do I have to wear these things?"

"I was going to walk you up to your front door in them. Bad idea?"

"My family will rip you a new one."

"Than I guess I better take them off you now, as long as you don't try to force that door open and roll away." Dillon nodded as if it was an actual request and proffered his handcuffed wrists. Lucky unlocked the chains and the teenager instinctively rubbed his hands together. Lucky started the engine and rolled the car out of the garage, cruising leisurely down the road.

The crackling radio interrupted the peace of the silent car, piercing through the air like a sword. It was an emergency dispatch call looking for assistance at a strip club called "The House". Apparently there had been some kind of shooting. Lucky was close to that area now, and radioed in that he would handle it. Glancing at Dillon, who was white with fear and excitement, he laughed.

"Sorry, guess we're both going to be a little late getting home tonight." He pulled the car into a sharp turn, sirens blazing and lights flashing, "Bet you didn't think stealing some dude's money would turn into a high speed police chase, huh?"

All Dillon could do was swallow hard and cling to the body strap of his seat belt.


End file.
